Others
by CacklingPomegranate
Summary: In search of a more positive environment, Kurt Hummel transfers to Dalton Academy.  However, things are not as they first appear, and soon Kurt finds himself thrown into a land of fantasy and horror.
1. Chapter 1

"The way to love anything is to realize that it may be lost."

— G.K. Chesterton

Dalton was very much a fairyland.

That's what Kurt found himself thinking, as he was lead through the hallways to his dormitory for the first time; he knew no one, and yet he attracted a plentitude of bright smiles as he passed. The boy who had volunteered to show him around kept spinning around to point out certain classrooms and offer Kurt encouraging grins, and didn't seem at all concerned when Kurt couldn't quite manage to grin back.

"That's the library - you can see the Classics Club is meeting right now. And in there is the Latin room. Our Latin team was recently honored nationally, so they're all quite pleased at the moment. And this way is where you'll be staying!"

Kurt followed him into the dorm. Like all of Dalton, it was clean and functional. Two beds lined the walls, and a half-open doorway hinted at a bathroom. Despite a large window on the opposite wall, not much natural light found its way in. Cautiously, Kurt stepped inside, while his guide stood politely by the door, like a concierge, or a perfectly trained labrador. He wandered to the window and touched the drapes lightly. They had looked soft, but felt rough and strange at the touch.

"Very blue." He smiled, only straining a little. "It's...neat in here. Very nice."

The other boy grinned widely at Kurt's approval. "Glad to hear you like it. You'll definitely enjoy staying here - we're pretty accommodating people. If you need anything, anything at all, just shout it out and someone will lend a hand."

Kurt nodded his appreciation, and after being assured that he was okay with unpacking in solitude, the other boy wandered off. Finally alone, Kurt turned one full circle, absorbing his surroundings. This was certainly new.

His decision to board at Dalton had been extremely last minute - but then, so was his decision to transfer. "It makes no sense to drive me two hours twice each day," he had pointed out to his father, who, after some convincing, had grunted that he was right, and allowed him to sign up for a dormitory. Two suitcases and thirty six hours later, here he was. But for the weekend and vacations, this would be home now.

He sat on the bed, sighing. Dalton may have been a fairyland, but it was still a land of mystery to him, and he was still a tourist. This much he knew: it was a large, old school, with a reputation to match. His window overlooked the sprawling gardens, which were maintained by the mysterious and rarely spotted groundskeeper. The school sat on twenty acres of rather secluded land, most of which was woods or gardens, and all of which was perfectly manicured. Exploring the grounds would be a good way to start his Dalton career, Kurt decided; the school might feel strange now, but he didn't have to make himself a stranger.

Hopping off the bed, he padded out into the hallway and began his trek out of doors. The halls were mostly vacated now. Peering into classrooms as he walked by, Kurt could see rows and rows of boys sitting at attention, apparently listening to their teachers with a level of attentiveness that no one at McKinley could have ever managed. Kurt smiled; they had to be faking it. No high school student could ever be as alert in their classes as the Dalton boys appeared.

Outdoors, the grounds were engulfed in fog. Kurt skipped down the stairs of the main entrance, surprised - it had been gloriously sunny that morning. "Weird," he muttered. But there was more important things to do than wonder at the weather, and at the top of his priorities, at the moment, was exploring. He set off at a trot, stopping only once he came to the edge of the gardens. Or the supposed gardens. Not much was growing. Perhaps that was to be expected (it was very early in the year, after all), but Kurt's heart still sank in disappointment as he looked down at the painfully pruned shrubbery. He had thought that seeing growing things would be reassuring, but this was just depressing - at Dalton, even the plants had to know their exact place.

"Yallo," a voice behind him suddenly grunted. Taken off guard, Kurt tried to spin around, but instead fell, quite inelegantly, on his ass. He stared up, blushing furiously. The voice belonged to a tiny old man with a nose like a small squash, wrinkled beyond recognition, hunched over a knobby cane.

"Um," Kurt answered hesitantly, "hello."

The old man cocked his head. "Yer sitting on th' geraniums," he said, giving his cane a shake.

Kurt looked at the ground. He definitely was not sitting on any geraniums. "Sorry," he said, and pulled himself to his feet.

"I planted those maself, years past. Don't 'preciate the way you boys treat 'em."

"Yeah," Kurt answered, as amicably as he could. "It was an accident. I won't do it again."

"Ye'll have to halp me replant 'em, now," the man said bluntly, glaring at Kurt through thick spectacles.

Kurt shrugged. "All right. I can do that. Have you got any bulbs?"

"Not _now,_" the man said, as if the suggestion was entirely preposterous. "When it's plantin' weather. Then ye'll come plant wit me."

"Uh," said Kurt. He was losing the train of this conversation. "Okay. How'll I know when it's planting weather?"

"I'll send for ye," the man answered. He gave his cane one last waggle, and turned back, walking away into the fog.

It was all Kurt could do to stare back at him. "Okay, then," he said aloud, entirely befuddled.

"All right?" For the second time, Kurt was surprised by a voice behind him, though this time he managed to turn around without falling over. Standing there was Blaine, hands in his pockets.

"Yeah, fine." Kurt gave him a quick smile. "Just, you know. Looking around."

"Well, come back in - you wouldn't want to miss your first ever Dalton Academy dinner. Plus, it's freezing out here."

"Suppose not." They made their way back to school. Despite its stately nature, it looked rather wilted and unimpressive when it was mostly hidden in fog. The grounds would prove themselves to be more interesting, Kurt was sure of it. Before letting Blaine lead him indoors, Kurt cast one last longing look in the direction of the woods; he knew that he had chosen to come here, to this land of structure and restriction, but he couldn't stop himself from gazing back toward the edge of the property, where the woods stopped being neatly kept and became true, wild forest. That was the direction that freedom lay.


	2. Chapter 2

Dalton wasn't horrible. It just wasn't..._alive. _That was what it came down to, Kurt began to realize over the next couple of days: his classmates were universally intelligent, sometimes startlingly so, and their classes reflected that. And yet, the teachers doled out the lessons without being compelling, and the smiles on the students' faces soon began to look thin and wooden. It felt stupid and brattish to complain about a school that his father and step-mom were spending a tremendous amount of money on, but more so and more so, Kurt was longing for a social outlet, just someone to vent to.

He tried Blaine first. "Morning," he said, sliding into a seat next to his friend at the beginning of European Lit.

Blaine smiled at him. "Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing in particular. I was just wondering, Blaine...how long did it take you to start to feel adjusted?"

"To what?"

Kurt gestured widely around the classroom. "To this. All of this."

Blaine didn't answer his question. Instead, his smile softened, and he said, "Aw, are you having trouble getting settled in? You should have let me know. We'll get you set up with friends soon enough."

"That's not really what I -" Kurt started, but then Mr. Spencer was waltzing into the classroom, and everyone was shuffling around, finding their seats, taking their places with straight backs and permanent smiles. Not yet ready to let go of Blaine's attention, Kurt prodded his side gently. He didn't get the reaction he was looking for, however; Blaine just gave him a quick smile and brought his finger to his lips. _Hush._ So Kurt sat back, twisting his mouth uncomfortably. He'd be quiet. But he wouldn't sit up straight, and he wouldn't wear the customary Dalton expression of polite interest. They couldn't make him.

After school provided the time that he craved. When the classes were released at 2:15, Kurt was free to do as he pleased. Generally this meant following Blaine to get coffee with Jeff and David, or else warding off invitations in favor of spending time alone. There was very little to do when you were alone at Dalton, but Kurt occupied his time with wandering about the grounds (although he avoided the gardens) or through unused classrooms, waiting for the school to reveal its secrets to him. Boarding meant that he was almost always surrounded by classmates, but even in a group, it was terribly easy to feel alone.

Only half of his first week had passed before Kurt started wishing for outside socialization. This would've been a lot easier to accomplish if he could drive, or if Dalton wasn't so ridiculously far from any town. Instead, he planted himself on his bed and pulled out his cell phone, thumbing through his contacts, looking for someone to talk to. He had been rooming with a boy named Chris, but, thankfully, he was usually out playing D&D or swapping Magic: the Gathering cards with his friends, leaving the room to Kurt, who would sprawl around, reading or counting the tiles on the bathroom floor.

First he dialed Finn's cell, but it went straight to voicemail. Mercedes would be at work, and Kurt wasn't desperate enough to voluntarily subject himself to one of Rachel's frequent recaps of the entire week. Instead he settled on Sam, breathing a sigh of relief when he heard the click of a phone being picked up.

"H'lo?"

Kurt fell back against his pillow, pulling himself into the lotus position and staring at the ceiling. "Hello there, Mr. Evans."

"Kurt?"

"That's the one."

He grinned at the sound of Sam bustling around, imagining him getting similarly comfortable.

"Aw, man! Everyone misses you. How's your academy? How're the Wobblers?"

"Warblers," Kurt corrected comfortably. "They're all right, I suppose."

"You suppose?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. Well, are they giving you solos and stuff? Have you blown anyone away yet?"

Here it was. Kurt bit his lip. "It doesn't really work that way, here," he said, slowly.

"How do you mean?"

"I mean...no one really stands out. No one really _wants_ to. People value conformity more than I thought they would." He sighed, picking absently at the cuff of his uniform. "It's weird. It's really different - like I transferred to China. I'm doing my best to be okay with everything, with all the differences. But I think I might wind up being a bit bitchy about it."

"Kurt." Sam's voice was gentle.

"Hm?"

"It's not your fault that you want to stand out. You're supposed to stand out. That's just sort of how you are."

Kurt grinned into the receiver. "You might be on to something, there."

"I can't imagine you in a uniform, is all."

"Oh _god." _Kurt laughed, and damn, it felt good to laugh, not the quiet titter of his new classmates, but a legitimate snort and chortle. "You have _no_ idea. The blazers are fun to watch at a distance, but _man,_ this outfit is going to be the death of me."

"So visit us," Sam said, and Kurt thought he could hear the hints of a grin in his voice. "Come visit us, and wear whatever crazy thing you want. Feathers and stuff."

"I'll do that."

They had a pleasant moment of silence.

"What's your room like?" Sam finally asked. Kurt sighed again.

"Dark. Really dark. The lamps don't work right, and it's been cloudy out anyway. That's been weird, too, the fog -"

He stopped. A bizarre scratching noise was coming from his doorway. Getting up, he walked to the door and opened it to reveal a large tabby cat tearing methodically at the wood of the frame. A brown envelope was tied round its neck.

"Hello," Kurt said, frowning. "What do you want?"

"Huh?" Sam's voice responded. "I don't know, just to talk to you -"

"Not you, Sam. I'll call you back, okay?" Kurt snapped his phone shut and pulled the envelope off the cat. He ripped it open to find a single, messily scrawled sentence: _planting weather, come to the garden. _Curiously, Kurt looked again at the tabby. It turned on its tail and began to march down the hall, clearly expecting him to follow.

"Okay then," he said, and immediately winced - he had been talking to himself much too frequently as of late.


End file.
